


Eames is a Bedroom Bully

by grizzly_bear_bane



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: But didn't know who to write the smut about, Comeplay, Community dick, Cousin Incest, Dom/sub Play, Eames and Arthur have an open relationship, Eames is a hoe, Gratuitous Smut, I haven't written smut in AGES and wanted to, Incest Kink, Is now a AO3 tag, M/M, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sex in a Car, Shameless Smut, So here we are, Top Eames (Inception), i am so sorry yall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:48:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23744815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grizzly_bear_bane/pseuds/grizzly_bear_bane
Summary: Sooooooo my head canon for Eames is that he REALLY, REALLY, EXCLUSIVELY loves Arthur and wants to be with him forever, but he and Arthur have commitment issues.But he also has quite a few ex-boyfriends and is awfully indiscriminate about where his dick goes--and Arthur judges him for each and everyone one of them. This one by far is definitely the worst.Eames has to pick his cousin up from jail. Shameful, dirty things happen that if Arthur ever found out, Eames would never live it down.One thing's for sure: Dáire is a bedroom brat and Eames is a bredroom bully.And a hoe.
Relationships: Eames (Inception)/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20





	Eames is a Bedroom Bully

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, yall, I have a harem full of OCs that Eames has slept with because I love Eames and highkey live vicariously through them all. 
> 
> It's been years and your boy Bear is STILL thristy af for this man. smh 
> 
> Pam, thank you for this prompt. XD

+

Arthur simply didn’t understand. There was a reason why Eames never spent more than five minutes with his family—not his mum and dad and their peaceful, conservative English family, no. His _other_ family.

Those damn rowdy Irish savages. 

His mother’s half-sister Sinead could not possibly be truly related to him. That would have to mean that her one and only spoiled rotten son was his actual blood and that was something Eames could _not_ accept.

“So, Skunkie’s in jail again,” he asked her when she’d called, smirking into the phone as he drove to rescue his cousin from his own chaotic… ‘adventures' for what felt like the hundreth time. 

“Aye, fuck you, calling me baby a skunk, are you—“

He hung up. She’d call back. She always did. Later after he’d “saved her baby from being run through like a train station”—her exact words—in that awful London jail. Poor Sinead. By now, she alone was the one person out of their entire family who had no idea just what her precious princess of a slut son got up to on a Friday night like this. A jail cell? Full of burly, tattooed men? Dáire would be in heaven. Even his dad Fenrir had stopped trying to ask too many questions. The man couldn’t handle it. If he knew how many bodies Dáire had under his belt—or rather between his legs—at the ripe old age of 22? Fenrir's heart would fail.

It was midnight by the time he got out of the countryside and into the city. Sure enough, Dáire had already made jail into a party as only he could.

“Can you believe that bullshit, Eamesie? They put _me_ in solitary! All I did was wink _once!_ Those fucking bigots.”

Eames rolled his eyes. “So what did you do this time, Dáire?”

The boy hardly fit in Eames’ little car. He had his knees propped up on the dashboard so he could sulk dramatically, his black hair and that shocking streak of white over his left brow whipped about his face when he rolled the window down. “I met a bloke…”

“Of course…”

“He offered me cigarettes if I blew him…”

“Naturally…”

“And all that time I’m on my knees, can you believe that fucker had coke in his pocket?!”

“Did he really?! Oh my. Had you known earlier, you would have bent all the way over for that, hm?”

Dáire paused, about to agree with Eames but he glared. “Fuck you, Eames.”

They rode in silence. Eames didn’t get it. Dáire was fucking gorgeous—if not for the fact that he was quite literally striped like a skunk. One green eye, one grey under his white brow and lashes. At 6’4, he was tall enough to model, had a face for it too, and yet… “Why do you always go for garbage dick? If you're going to be wrapped around some bloke’s neck you ought to at least pick one with _some_ class.”

“Oh, like you?”

Eames nearly wrecked glancing over in his shock. “ _Me?!_ Of course not!” It was only a moment later that he realized to his horror that he misheard the boy.

It was too late. 

Dáire’s white brow was rising high on his forehead. He turned more to admire Eames with a look that made Eames want to punch him in that plush mouth. 

Yeah, Eames didn’t need to be told. He knew it was wrong, he’d _always_ known it was wrong since he was sixteen and the boy sitting beside him was fourteen that he’d wanted to bang him. _His fucking cousin_. 

God he hated this family. 

Dáire combed his fingers through his hair, still staring at the side of Eames's face. “Georgie?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“No? But you get to call me a skunk? Fuck you. I just want to ask you something.”

“Nope.”

“Oh no? Is me big cousin afraid of little ol’ me and an innocent question?”

Eames glanced over. This was the same cousin who had jerked him off in a swimming pool when they were teenagers. There was nothing innocent about this nymphomaniac. “Yes! I am!”

Dáire rolled his eyes and gave up—or so Eames thought. “Fine. You English are such prudes. Doesn’t matter anyways. I already know I’d be bored to death on your dick.”

Eames gripped the steering wheel tighter. “I beg your pardon, boy?” Dáire could talk all the shit he wanted, _nobody_ insulted Eames' dick and got away with it. Jsut ask Arthur... and Said... and Parker... and all the others whose names he couldn't remember. “Keep running that mouth.”

“Or what? You’ll stuff your dick down me throat? Can you _really_ threaten me with a good time? But then no… I remember your dick. That swimming pool wasn’t even cold and yet—“

“Are you calling me little?!”

He shrugged. “Maybe I just have big hands.”

“Oh, fuck this!”

At first Dáire panicked when Eames pulled the car over into the ditch. He was sure Eames was going to kick him out and make him walk. He was _not_ expecting Eames to pull his seat back and attack him. “Eames?”

“Oh no, boy, you want to talk so recklessly.”

Dáire’s brain shorted out. “Fuck me?”

Eames paused, already dragging Dáire into his lap. “Oh, I intend to. Unless you're scared?”

"Me, scared? Fucking bring it, then!" He _had_ to be dreaming. He'd wanted this for _years_. Eames’s sweater was over his head and his t-shirt followed and all the muscles in Eames’s chest, his arms, even his back that always stretched out his ugly shirts were all here and bare in this car for Dáire to scratch to hell…

“You’re fucking massive, Eames.”

Eames huffed. “Maybe the car is just small, hm?” 

"You cheeky fucking bastard."

With his lap full of Dáire, Eames was hard as a rock in his trousers. The challenge in Dáire’s eyes as he hurried out of his ripped shirt and maneuvered himself so effortlessly out of his skintight, torn jeans and—leggings?—when he could barely fit in the car as is, Eames was honestly impressed. “Someone does this often, do they?”

Dáire glared, playing with his cute Prince Albert. He tilted his head, letting his white hair fall over his eye. “I like your mouth when you don’t speak.”

“Oh, bullshit, at least I could understand what I’m saying but you Irish—“ He was cut off by an open mouthed kiss and Dáire's split tongue that had Eames wrapping his hands around Dáire’s throat to hold him back. “You’re gunna kiss me when you’ve had another man down your throat?”

Dáire dug his nails into Eames’s ribs to get his hands off. “Yeah, and I’m going to ride your fat fucking cock off with this ass that’s already been stretched on a dick or two today and you’re going to come inside me, crying, because I’m just that fucking good. Understand?”

Okay. Eames was speechless for once. When Dáire licked his palm and stuck four long, slender fingers into his mouth before those fingers disappeared between them, Eames knew this wasn’t just some big mouthed twink, this was a bonafide challenge. “I’m going to break you in half for that.”

Dáire rode his fingers with a look on his face that came purely from the Devil, if the Devil wasn’t currently sitting in Eames’ lap. “I’m so bored.”

Eames laughed, shaking his head. “Oh my poor sweet, sweet, skunk. You’re going to get yourself hurt in this car.” He caught Dáire by the neck to push his face down to the passenger seat, catching him at an odd angle but he reached past him for the glovebox. 

Dáire moaned rough and ragged into the seat, his ass opened up on Eames’s slick hand. He couldn’t move from under Eames’ arm, biting the seat when Eames fingered his ass down to his knuckles. “Fuck!”

“What’s wrong, Skunkie, does that hurt?” He paused for an answer, smiling when he didn’t get one. “Thought so. I know you can take cock. Nobody is as pretty as you unless they can handle getting fucked around but I’m sad to say, they can’t compare to what you’ve got coming your way. It’s sad, really. Such a shame.”

Dáire had his damn nails in Eames’ ribs again. He sat up, propping his elbows back on the dashboard.

“Arrogant, are we?” He shook his hair out of his face. “Careful. It _is_ still cold out…”

“You fucking bitch.” 

Dáire laughed, not at all expecting his cousin to unzip his pants and put out that big fucking monster. His smile fell. “Holy shit, Eames.”

Eames was amazed to see such a sweet, wide eyed gaze looking down at him. “Funny thing with growers, ain’t it? You never know what you’re going to get until they’ve reached their full size and you realize what terrible mistake you made calling a cock like this _little_.”

“Eames— _Eames_!” Dáire had to bite his lips to stop from screaming when Eames stuffed his cock up his slick little hole. He wasn’t anywhere near as loose as he thought it was. “What the fuck, Eames?”

Now _that_ was a new reaction. Eames loves his dick. It was his best mate. All manner of prissy little bitches like Arthur had all had their smug grins wiped right off their faces the first time they saw it in all its glory, but confusion? Amazement? “Are you so surprised?”

Dáire was crying, his hands gripping the door handle and Eames’ shoulder with nowhere to go. “I could have sworn that cute American and the German were always around you for your money.” He shook his head, bouncing with every hard snap from Eames’s awfully mean hips. “If you break me… I'm telling your mother.”

Eames smacked him playfully, surprised by Dáire’s reaction. The boy positively melted so he did it again, harder. He gripped his chin as he pushed his hips up as far as he could, bottoming out in Dáire’s tight little cunt. “You will do no such thing. Now are you gonna take this dick?” Dáire nodded in Eames’ hand, pliant and dazed as his hips rolled in a circle, still taunting him. 

No matter how mean Eames was, no matter the tears ruining Dáire’s goth eyeliner down his cheeks, that boy simply would not stop taunting him for more. He caught Dáire by his waist and hammered him, groaning with Dáire’s nipples bouncing in front of his face. Right one was brown. The left one was a pale pink. Both were pierced with what looked like little fangs framing the buds. “You are one filthy little slag, you know that?” _Even though Dáire towered over him when they were standing._

Out of anything else, _this alone_ drove Eames wild, those damn nipples. He swirled his tongue around the brown one, loving how that puffy little mound hardened under his care. 

“Keep calling me little, you fucking dwarf—Oh no, no, no, don’t do that!” Dáire was crumbling, pushing on Eames’s knees to try to free himself from those lips on his nipple ring, but he was trapped. “I’ll ruin this whole fucking car!”

Eamea didn’t believe him. He sucked hard, moaning as Dáire let a wounded sound slip past his tattooed throat. “Oh, but I must, pet. I can’t just leave this pretty pink one.” He bit it.

Dáire screamed against the car’s ceiling, coming hard on Eames’s chest, his chin, out the open window, and on his own lips without ever touching his cock. Eames pressed those narrow hips down as he thrust up, busting his load as deep in Dáire as he could. 

The Irish boy was wincing as he moved from Eames’s lap, now free to melt into the passenger seat as Eames stuffed his cock back in his boxers and got the car started. 

They rode the rest of the way in silence, save for their heavy panting and the glances they slipped to one another when they assumed the other was looking at the road.

Eames pulled into the long driveway and parked. He cleared his throat. “Well… Uh... So that happened. We should talk about it.”

Dáire eyed him through his wild hair. It was starting to spiral into curls around his neck and face from the rain and his sweat. He was still naked with his legs spread. His voice was rough and deep. “I’m dripping come from you.” 

It was too much. They were nowhere near done with this. No amount of shock or shame from fucking his _first_ cousin in his car off the side of the road by some random field ditch could keep him from throwing himself off that cliff again. They were going to hell for this. Damn. He was supposed to be rescuing Dáire from jail and encouraging the boy to make better choices with his life. 

Instead, Dáire was dripping his come between his thighs. Looking at Dáire now, he had a rather large and vulgar tattoo on one thigh of _two men fucking_ for Christ's sake. This boy was too far gone for Eames to do anything but fuck him again. Eames only hoped Dáire understood what he was in for. And that he could be over this mutual obsession before Arthur could come back and have yet another reason to judge him.

“Get dressed and get in the house,” he ordered, glaring. He watched Dáire shimmy and maneuver those impossibly long legs in the cramped space, covering his pale, tattooed skin, it’s new bruises and his black lace and fishnets with his jeans. 

Dáire could admit that he’d lost that first round. Eames wasn't the same bloody rugby nerd he’d been as a teenager. He’d fully embraced his inner jock _and_ his inner beast and was swinging a bat around in those trousers. He didn’t even bother with his shirt and boots. He carried them in and dropped them by the door. “Do I get to shower before you toss me in the kennel for the night? Or did catching your nut get me out of the doghouse?” 

Eames scooped him up by his waist without a word, smirking when his strength surprised Dáire. “Why so quiet? Did I startle you?”

He dumped him on his bed and pulled him to the edge by the ankle. 

Dáire cursed when his ass hit the floor. He glared up at Eames, ready to wrestle him down with him but instead he decided that Eames's trousers needed to come down. He wrapped his arms around his thighs and yanked the zipper down with his teeth. 

Eames was impressed once again. “You are such a slut.” 

“And you are _so_ small.” He cooed up at Eames when he got his dick was free. It was swallowed in Dáire’s loose grip. “Is it cold in here? Or is it just me.” 

Eames caught him by the neck and pinched his nose, cheating to get ahead of their game. He buried Dáire’s face in his groin. “Check out this magic trick I learned with Said. You'll get a kick out of this.” He could feel Dáire’s split tongue and piercings tickling up either side of his growing shaft, coaxing it further and further down his tongue. “You don’t learn very fast, do you Dáire? What was that? I can’t understand you. Cock got your tongue?”

Dáire glared up at that awfully dull joke but he couldn’t fuss. He was choking on Eames's dick and it hurt. He couldn’t even swallow. His tongue was trapped under Eames’s heavy length. He dug his nails in Eames’ thighs but it only earned him Eames’s deep, rough grunts and no mercy. He could have come in his jeans just trapped between those thick thighs and the bedding.

“I wonder what I should cook for breakfast tomorrow.” Eames mulled it over when Dáire had the nerve to try to bite him. He looked down at those tear-filled eyes and pet Dáire’s soft hair. He really was quite pretty for a boy. “What do you think?”

Dáire coughed and punched Eames in the knee when he finally let him go. “You’re supposed to gag me... not kill me.” 

“Want me to try again?”

Dáire’s glare eased into a half smile. “Why would you ruin this moment with a question? Have you ever done this before, Georgie?”

Eames let his hand fall heavy on the top of Dáire’s head. He sighed as he pinched the boy’s nose again, a little afraid that that maniac might actually pass out before relenting but Eames didn’t exactly give him any space to breathe when that pretty mouth opened and got stuffed with cock again. 

“You need help, you know that?”

Dáire’s eyes rolled closed in bliss, not annoyance, or even fear when Eames combed his fingers through his hair and smothered him. He pet the white streak of locks and stroked his thumb over the white spot on his dark brow. It was a bizarre mix; that extreme, brutal facefucking and soft petting, but for Dáire, it made sense. Little else could turn him on the way that balance did.

"Christ... your mouth is even worse now. No one should ever kiss you again if they know what's good for them."

Dáire collapsed forward with spit on his chin and cheek when he was freed. His split tongue lapped it up. He looked like a vampire, or a demon. Yes, Eames was convinced, his aunt had given birth to a literal demon. Dáire panted, his eyes closed, savoring what Eames could only interpret as surviving another close brush with death.

Eames held his ear to make him look up at him. “Are you going to behave like a good boy now? Or do I need to knock your cunt loose again?”

“Oh here you go with your glorious threats.” He slithered up the bed like a snake and stretched out, getting comfortable as if he were content to fall asleep just as he was. “Eat me, you arrogant bastard.”

“Alright.”

He was flipped on his stomach and crushed down by Eames’ weight. His rough handling took Dáire’s breath away. Eames didn’t bother pulling his tights down once he got those jeans off; he simply grabbed handfuls of the lace and thin cotton and ripped them down the seams, baring Dáire’s ass. 

Eames paused, his hands spreading Dáire’s cheeks wide. “So full of surprises…” Dáire’s perineum was pierced _and_ tattooed with a tiny Catholic cross. “Ever the blasphemous cunt.”

Dáire laughed into the bedding, letting Eames hike up his hips. “Aren’t we both? Granted, fucking one's cousin is Biblical, isn’t it? Look at us doing the work of two good Christians.” He bit his lip too hard when Eames smacked his ass. He sucked in the blood, his breath hitching when Eames got the other cheek just as pink. 

Those decorations weren’t the only thing between Dáire’s cheeks Eames hadn't expected. He had to clarify before he allowed his dick to get any harder where it pulsed in his fist. “Did I really hurt you? Or is your arsehole _also_ birthmarked?” He thumbed away the come that slipped free as he touched it. 

“That’s all me,” Dáire panted, squeezing around Eames’ thumb. "Trust me, you could never."

The left side of his arsehole _would_ have been pale pink just like his nipple if Eames hadn’t pounded it red, but the other side was brown. His birthmark covered nearly half of his body. Even what little hair he had framing his cock was white on the left side. “Dáire, you are just a fun fucktoy from head to toe, aren’t you? No wonder these legs are always spread.” 

Daire might have had a retort if his guiche ring wasn’t getting pressed into his perineum. Alright. He loved a good fight and he would die before letting Eames know this, but if this was what losing to Eames felt like, he was happy with defeat. _More_ than happy when Eames pushed his cock back into his sore body. All the way to the hilt.

Eames fucked his come out of Dáire slowly at first. Dáire could die in the bliss of feeling it trickling down his thighs. 

“That’s it,” Eames purred over him, watching his cock stretch that hole. A harder thrust had Dáire’s perky cheeks bouncing. He giggled. “Why haven’t we ever done this before?”

Dáire rolled his eyes, gripping the wrinkled sheets when Eames decided he’d had enough with nice and gentle. “You’re English. You lot never have good ideas about how to spend your free time if it doesn’t include tea and apologizing.” He screamed, nearly coming again when Eames reached between his legs to grab his cock and balls in retaliation. He laughed, feeling a little dizzy. “Always so fragile about your fucking Queen and heritage.”

Eames smacked his ass hard, leaving a hand sized bruise and then another. Dáire was a puddle under him. He dove his fingers in the back of his black curls and yanked his head back, reveling in the pitiful sound of pain that followed. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you like getting roughed up, don’t you?” Yanking him back by his hair to catch his harder strokes, Dáire’s growl was answer enough. “I ought to take you over my knee the next time you interrupt my quiet evening to get you out of jail.”

“Isn’t the point to correct my behavior, not encourage it?” 

Eamea flattened him to the mattress. He lifted his weight up, his hands bracing on Dáire’s lower back, he changed his angle to slam down hard and precise, crushing him. 

“Fuck, Georgie!”

He smacked his ass. “Hush.” 

Dáire was trying to buck up to meet his hips but he could barely breathe with Eames’ hands on his back. 

“Does that hurt?”

“Yes!”

“Good,” he purred, slapping Dáire’s ass red. “That’s what you get for messing around with men you ought not to.” He knew when he grabbed Dáire’s ass cheeks his hold was going to leave awful bruises. He only fucked him harder, ready to smash him through the floor. “Has my silly slag learned anything important from this visit to jail?”

“Yes, that you’re a fucking bully!”

“That’s absolutely right.” He turned Dáire’s face towards him, again loving how flexible he was as his back arched. “So next the time you end up sniffing around cigarette cock, what’s going to happen?”

“You’re gonna fucking pound me like this.”

“ _Absolutely_.”

“Let me up. I wanna ride you.”

“Oh no. Only good boys get to ride this dick and you, Dáire, are just _terrible_.”

Dáire growled. “Alright, you cocky fucker. Enough.”

Eames seemed to blink and he was on his back with long legs all over his lap. "How the fuck did you...?" Arthur would have been proud.

“Now,” Dárie purred, combing his hair back. He rolled his hips, smacking Eames when he tried to thrust up. “It's my turn.”

“For what?”

Dáire smiled in answer, catching Eames’ wrists above his head, his free hand squeezing Eames’ neck. “I said you would come crying and I’m ready to collect those tears.” He dug his nails into Eames’ thick neck, letting his hips rise enough that Eames’ cock nearly slipped free. That devilish smile returned at the sound of Eames’ sad little groan. “You think you’re the only bully in this bed?”

Eames gulped. He knew his cousin. All this time he’d used his bulk to push him around but Daire had that mouth of his. _And_ the longer limbs.

He propped his weight on Eames’s neck and squeezed his hole until it pushed Eames and more of his come out of him. “Oops. Put it back in.” He squeezed Eames’ neck harder when he eagerly grabbed his dick to fuck Dáire on it again. “Are you deaf? I said put it back in.”

Eames bucked his hips in answer. “I did.”

Dárie shook his head, killing Eames’ confidence. “ _All_ of it.”

Eamea licked his lips. He pushed his fingers in Dáire to ease his come back inside, making the boy all the more messy. He held the base of his cock in a grip that was too tight but anything to make it easier for Dáire to sink that lithe body back down on his lap. They both moaned. 

“When I was younger I used to imagine what it would be like for you to pin me down and hurt me, Georgie.” 

Eames could have come just picturing that. He rumbled, smirking and feeling like he—

“Too bad it won’t happen. You were _so_ close too, Georgie, but you simply don’t have what it takes.” He leaned down, riding Eames’ cockhead right into his prostate. For a moment he simply let the fireworks of pleasure take over. He tsked down at Eames’s raised brow. “I promise I won’t tell anyone, especially your other boys. I’m sure they tell you over and over that you’re _so_ overwhelming and _so_ mean to their defenseless quims,” he whispered, licking Eames’s ear. “ _They lied_.”

Eames chuckled. “I thought I had you figured out.”

Dáire smiled sweetly under Eames’ hands petting his hips and stomach. “Yes?”

“You’re a brat.” 

Dáire paused. “A what?”

“A brat.” Eames bucked hard and rolled them. He pushed Daire up the headboard, folding him in half. He bruised his skinny wrists when the boy tried to break free. He smacked him, earning that reaction from earlier. He was going to break the bed if he fucked Dáire any harder but the boy was soundly trapped and moaning his voice raw. "You’re a fucking brat,” he panted, smacking Dáire’s hands away from him before they could claw at his ribs again. He hiked those long legs over his shoulders before deciding that it was more fun to put his weight on the back of Dáire’s thighs. 

“Fuck you, Eames!”

“Oh, I’m _sure_. You bloody brat. You don’t want to win, you don’t want to scare me off of you either, oh no… You just get a rise out of driving your men to the brink of murder.” He pulled Daire further under him when Dáire’s back tried to arch. 

He was a mess, a real, beautiful mess, sobbing under Eames’ unrelenting assault. “Smart.”

Eames rumbled up a scary, graveled laugh. He twisted Dáire’s nipples and admired the pool of precome now covering the Medusa tattoo on Dáire’s stomach. “Now, now, darling, settle yourself. You're supposed to be convincing me that you're bored by this, remember?"

Dáire’s eyes were closed, his hands clutching the headboard behind him. He was content to just let Eames pound him into nothing but electrified nerves and broken hips. His back flat to the headboard, Dáire chased Eames’ mouth, licking the two barbells in his split tongue across his plush lips just to see if Eames would let him after getting blocked in the car.

Eames smacked him hard and pointed his finger at Dáire’s nose. “I told you to keep that dirty mouth away from me. I can still take you over my knee, boy.”

That threat had Dáire’s blush spreading from cheek to cheek and down his collarbones, his lips parting as he panted, “Yes, sir.” He shivered, whining.

It was music to Eames’ ears. Their releases tangled and tripped over one another. They held on tight to each other as they reached the perfect harmony of dominance and submission. Eames had won again. Dáire couldn’t be more thrilled. 

Or more sore and banged up. He groaned, unfurling from the ball Eames had fucked him into. “Jesus, George.” 

Eamea grimaced as he helped him stretch out under him. The sheets were a mess but his boy was far worse. “You’re filthy.”

“Mhm.” He wiped the tears from his eyes and poured at his ruined eyeliner. He glared. “You’ll pay for this.”

“Oh no, I’m _so_ scared. Where should I hide?”

Dáire smiled, his brow arching. “Inside me. _Obviously_.”

Eames eyed him, shaking his head as Daire smiled even wider. “Call you mum and tell her you’re staying here tonight.”

“Yes, sir.”

+


End file.
